


Cuddle Fuddle

by bohemeyourself



Series: Shamlessly Self-indulgent fics about Ian [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemeyourself/pseuds/bohemeyourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ian gets sick, and then there is cuddles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuddle Fuddle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FifteenDozenTimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/gifts).



> 15dozentimes asked, and I delivered. Just a giant self-indulgent excuse for fluffy h/c type stuff. Warning: your teeth might rot. Title shamelessly jacked from Passion Pit.

It starts during takeoff. Ian’s whole head plugs up. He can’t breathe, there’s a sinus headache threatening full blown migraine, and he’s nauseous. Ian never gets nauseous during flights, what the fuck?

Spencer passes over a purse pack of tissues, some tylenol pm and some sudafed. “You’re like a walking drugstore. Is there anything you don’t have?”

Spencer shrugs. “After six years, you get used to packing. What everyone needs, what everyone forgets, and what you might need just in case.”

“You sound like your mom.” Brendon says, but Ian sees Spencer pass him an extra set of headphones when Brendon can’t find his, and Brendon’s subsequent sheepish smile. Ian takes the drugs and falls asleep on Spencer’s shoulder.

+++

Ian has never been so happy to see a hotel room in his life. The hotel rooms they get now are so much better than the shitty motels The Cab used to sleep in. The beds are huge, and the sheets are actually soft, and the bathroom could probably fit a ping pong table, at the very least (not that Ian knows where he could get his hands on one in Australia, but the point remains.)

They haul all their gear in and Ian collapses onto one of the beds. He barely registers Spencer taking off his shoes for him before he’s dead to the world.

When Ian wakes, his headache is gone, but he still can’t breathe. His mouth feels like he’s been eating sand, and he’s still sort of nauseous. Great.

“Hey,” Spencer says. The bed dips when he sits on the edge of it, right at Ian’s hip. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ugggghh, I am so sick. I am the sickest boy in all of Australia.” Ian’s voice is croaky and strange in his own ears, halfway to gone. He is so fucked for the show tonight. He can chug enough redbull and take enough tylenol to power through a set, but if he can’t sing, well... “I am going to die, you will have to find someone to replace me.”

Spencer laughs. “Okay, well how about breakfast?” There’s three different types of cereal on the little table, paper bowls, and probably milk in the mini-fridge, because Spencer’s awesome like that. “I didn’t know what you liked, and I know it’s not a proper meal or anything, but...”

Ian untangles a hand from the blankets and flaps at Spencer until he stops. “It’s awesome, thank you.” He croaks. Spencer practically force-feeds Ian two bowls of cereal, and then dumps him in the bath. The water is perfect, just this side of scalding, with mountains of bubbles.

“I got more stuff for your nose, and they didn’t have any of that throat spray at the drugstore, but there was Vicks, so I got some of that.”

“You really did all this for me?” Ian scoops up a handful of bubbles, blowing on them to make them fly away.

“Well yeah,” Spencer sits on the edge of the tub and pushes a hand into Ian’s hair. “You need to get better, we have shows to play, you know.” Ian nods and tamps down on the bubbly feeling in his chest. Spencer would do this for any of them, he knows. Spencer cares about them all, but still.

Spencer leaves him alone, mostly, only coming in once to leave pajamas on the toilet seat and a netipot set on the counter. When he is properly pruny and feeling considerably better, Ian gets out and gets dressed. He nearly drowns himself using the netipot, but it was totally worth it, he can breathe like, ten times better now.

“That netipot thing totally works,” Ian announces when he come out of the bathroom. “I can almost sort of breathe now.”

“Good,” Spencer says. He’s curled up in bed with his laptop. “C’mere, let me put this stuff on your chest.” He waves the pot of Vicks vapo-rub at Ian.

“Ugh, I hate that stuff.”

“My mom said it will help you breathe. Come here,” Spencer says again.

“Your mom?”

“I emailed her last night after you passed out.”

Ian doesn’t know why, but the thought of Spencer being worried enough to actually email his mom about him makes Ian smile. He obediently sits next to Spencer and lets him rub Vicks on his chest. “Here,” Spencer says. “I don’t have a quilt, so this will have to do.” He wraps Ian in Spencer’s biggest, fluffiest hoodie. It’s already warm, and smells a bit like laundry soap and mostly like Spencer. He burrows into the hood and tries to breathe the scent in.

“This is better.” Ian says. Spencer smiles.

“Wanna watch Despicable Me?” Spencer asks.

“Hell yes,” Ian answers. “That is an awesome idea.”

Spencer steals all the pillows from the other bed, and they settle in with the movie on Spencer’s laptop. It’s kind of awkward, with the computer balanced on Spencer’s lap, and Ian keep shifting to try to see the screen better. Spencer laughs at him.

“What?”

“Come here, dude.” Spencer holds up his arm, and obvious invitation for Ian to tuck himself under it. Ian doesn’t hesitate. “Better?”

“Much.”

They watch the movie, and then a break for more cereal, and then Spencer puts on The Incredibles. Spencer’s movie choices are top notch. Ian’s a little too out of it to really laugh at anything, but whatever. Ian’s still curled around Spencer, head on his chest, right where he can feels Spencer’s chest rumble when he laughs. This is the best. Even if they’re missing Australia, Ian’s happy to be snuggled under the sheets with Spencer, whose fingers are rubbing circles into his scalp.

“You’re kind of the best, Spence.” Ian slurs. Spencer’s fingers are going to put him to sleep.

Spencer’s chest rumbles again when he laughs, and he presses a kiss to Ian’s forehead. He should probably be thanking any powers that be that he doesn’t have a fever. Hopefully he won’t have to spend his birthday sick in bed on the other side of the world. Well, if Spencer were there, it really wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

“Anytime, little one.”

Ian smiles and squeezes the arm he has thrown over Spencer, and let’s Spencer’s fingers in his hair coax him to sleep.


End file.
